


Explanations

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, alpha pack, stiles gets bitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles realizes that there are a few important things he hasn't been picking up on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explanations

The Alpha pack had Stiles for three days. 

One of their own had been killed by a hunter and they knew the Hale pack had her under their protection as a favor to the Argents.  Derek had resented this, of course, but Chris had threatened to recant his promise not to kill Derek and the rest of the pack.

The Alphas had wanted revenge and the only way to do that was to go through Derek’s pack.  They had come to Derek’s house and demanded the hunter be turned over to them to pay for her crime.  They appealed to Derek as an Alpha, as a person, and finally as someone who’d lost his own family to the hunters.  Stiles knew all that did was make Derek angry, and he’d refused to hand the hunter over to the Alphas. 

There had been a fight, a big one.  Stiles knew Scott was badly injured and Isaac was worse.  Allison had claw marks all over her arms, but she’d landed arrows in at least three of the Alphas.  Boyd had done some serious damage to the female Alpha, clawing open her stomach.  Stiles wasn’t sure if she was even still alive.

The Alphas had ultimately won, which wasn’t exactly a surprise, given their strength.  They had subdued everyone, tied some up, held some down.  They had planned to take Scott as collateral, but Stiles had stepped in, said to take him instead.  Scott didn’t deserve to be taken.  He wasn’t even really _pack_.  So they’d used some form of wolfsbane to knock everyone out and taken Stiles, shoved him into their van.  They took him somewhere out in the middle of nowhere; put him in a dark room that Stiles thought might be a closet.  He’d been there for what he estimated was a few hours, maybe five, before they came to take him to the basement.

They had chained Stiles to the wall, which had actually dislocated one of his shoulders.  One of the women had knocked him around a little, split his lip, given him a black eye.  But the big surly beta was the worst.  He’d snapped three of Stiles’ _fingers_ , which had hurt like _hell_.  When they tugged him off the wall, the chains had lacerated the skin of his wrists and ankles.  When they clawed his back open, it felt like they were pouring fire onto Stiles’ skin.  His throat was hoarse from screaming, alternating between harsh, animal sounds and cries for help.  At first, he’d tried to be resolute and not beg or plead or cry out for his pack, but after the first couple of snapped fingers, his resolve snapped, too.

After they ripped open his back, they left him curled up on the stone floor, whimpering and shaking in pain.

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of pain and noise.  Of someone yelling at him, yelling at each other.  Maybe he was hallucinating.  There were feverish dreams of Boyd, Erica, Isaac, all of them shaking their heads in shame.  His father, eyes full of disappointment.  Derek, angry at Stiles’ inability to protect himself.  Scott was there, sighing because once again his best friend was the reason for everyone’s stress and worry.

_You’re such a liability Stiles!_

_This is why we never let you help._

_No wonder you’re always getting kidnapped._

_It’s an inconvenience, trying to save you._

_We’re so disappointed._

_How could you let this happen?_

_How could you be so stupid?_

Stiles didn’t know what was real or what was just the pain anymore.

He didn’t know what time it was, but it was dark and there were scuffling noises upstairs, shouts, thuds, gunfire.  Someone was screaming.  Someone was laughing, but Stiles could hear that their voice was thick…like there was blood bubbling in their throat.

“Where is he?!” that sounded almost like Derek.  But it couldn’t be.  Who was he talking about?

“You’ll never find him,” was that one of the Alphas?

“What did you do to him?!  I’ll kill you all,” Derek sounded furious.

Stiles knew, then.  Knew this wasn’t a dream, this was real.  The pack was there to help, to _save_ him.

He tried calling out, yelling for help.

 _Scott. Scott, help me.  Help me.  Derek.  Isaac.  Peter.  ANYONE.  Just get me_ out.

Someone was throwing themselves against the door and Stiles’ chest constricted, hitching in a sob.  Whether it was pain or relief was debatable, though. 

Someone was kneeling next to him, gentle fingers running up his arms.

“Oh, God,” _no, Scott, it’s okay.  I’m okay._ “Oh God, Oh God, Stiles, Oh God.  Derek!  Derek, I found him!”

And Derek was there, “Stiles, Stiles, wake up.  Please.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry.”

But maybe Stiles dreamt that.

_--*--_

When Stiles blinks his eyes open, he’s staring up at a white ceiling.  He’s confused for a moment before the sounds register.  He’s in a hospital.  But there’s something different.

His ears feel weird, like- like his hearing’s been magnified.  It’s the same with his eyes.

He sits up and his muscles scream in pain.  He aches in places he didn’t even know _could_ ache.

The door cracks open and Scott rushes in eyes wide with relief.  He smells like fear, which confuses Stiles.  How can he _smell_ fear?  It’s acrid, and sharp like barbed wire.

“Oh my God, Stiles,” he throws his arms around him and squeezes so tight Stiles is afraid he’ll break a rib. “You’re okay, you’re alive, never, ever do that again.  Please, please, please.”

“It’s okay Scott,” wow his voice is rusty. “I’m okay.  What happened?”

“You were _dying_ , Stiles,” Scott whispers, sitting in the chair next to the bed. “You were _dead_.  Derek-“ he cuts off, looking at Stiles nervously. “Derek _bit_ you.  He had to, Stiles.  You were _dead_.”

“I-“ Stiles is in shock.  It feels like someone turned off his brain. “I’m- I’m a werewolf?”

“Yes, yeah,” Scott says quietly, gripping his hand. “Don’t be angry at him; he was just trying to save you.  He lo- He was worried.”

“Angry?” Stiles furrows his brows. “I’m not angry!  I’d rather be a werewolf then be _dead_ , Scott.  Why would I be _angry_?”

“He thought you would be furious,” comes Isaac’s quiet voice from the door.

Stiles realizes now he can smell them.  Scott smells familiar, like the lavender laundry detergent his mom uses, but with a woodsy, smoky smell under that and something that smells floral, which Stiles guesses is Allison.  Isaac smells clean and fresh like water, like snow.

“I can smell you,” he says quietly. “It’s really weird.  But no, I’m not angry.  That’s also weird.  I probably should be.  But I’m not.”

Erica pushes her way past Isaac and marches over to the bed.  She actually slaps Stiles across the face before she leans in and hugs him, “You’re a _fucking_ idiot.  I hate you so much.”  She smells like vanilla and cinnamon and burnt sugar, which is magnified once Boyd steps in.  He always knew they were together.  Boyd just nods at him and Stiles hitches one side of his mouth up in a sad excuse for a smile.

His dad is the next person to burst through the doors and Stiles’ eyes prickle with tears, “Dad,” he croaks. “Dad, I’m okay, I’m alive.”

His dad is _crying_ , which makes Stiles feel worse because the only thing his dad cries about is his mom.  Stiles is really crying, too, now, and his dad is pulling him into a fierce hug, chest heaving with sobs.

“Stiles, you don’t ever do that again,” he whispers. “Never, ever again, do you hear me?  I thought you were _dead_.  I thought you were _gone._ ”

“I know,” Stiles does know. “I know, I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.”

His dad pulls back and wipes his eyes, “So you’re a werewolf now, huh?”

Stiles laughs wetly, “Looks like it.”

His dad nods, processing the information, before he tugs Stiles into another hug.

_--*--_

When Stiles gets out of the hospital the next day- since his wounds are miraculously healed- Scott’s waiting in his room.

“Stiles,” he says seriously, “we should talk.  We need to talk about this, about you being a werewolf.  You’re part of his pack now.  For _real_.”

Stiles sits down on his bed and sighs.  He knows.  He can feel it.  When Isaac and Erica and Boyd were in his hospital room, he could feel an almost tangible link to them, like a string stretching from his chest to theirs.  He can feel another one, too, but it’s stronger.  He knows it’s Derek, it’s his _Alpha_.  But he’s not strong enough to use it to find him.

“Yeah,” he sighs in response to Scott, “I know.”

“How do you feel?” Scott asks tentatively.

Stiles explains the string thing, and Scott nods, “You might feel one for me, too, even though I’m not pack.  It’s normal.  I’ve got one for you, now, and for Allison.  Derek says it’s strange that I’ve got one for Allison since she’s not a wolf, but I think it’s right.”

“Derek,” Stiles sighs again. “Derek, Derek, Derek.”

“Yeah,” Scott whispers. “He thinks you’re angry.  We told him you weren’t, but he won’t listen.  Even Peter’s tried to convince him you’re fine.”

“Well maybe he’ll come around soon,” Stiles tries not to be hopeful.  He squashes it down, tries to forget it, tries to ignore the twang of that fifth string tied to his heart.

 

It doesn’t work.

_--*--_

Almost two weeks later, Stiles still hasn’t seen Derek.

But he knows Derek’s been in his room.  He can smell it.

Derek smells like pine and leather and something Stiles can’t put his finger on, something warm and soft that Stiles figures is his Alpha-ness.  He can’t ask Scott because Scott doesn’t understand, but Stiles is sure that’s what it is.  But he takes a trip over to see Isaac just to make sure.

“Hey,” Isaac says when he opens the door, “how are you doing?”

“I’m alright,” Stiles grins. “Getting used to hearing and smelling everything.  It was kinda gross at first, actually.”

“I know, right?  Erica and Boyd have this downstairs neighbor.  Ugh, he and his girlfriend are _disgustingly_ loud.”

Stiles makes a face, “Ew, dude.”

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, ushering Stiles to the living room. “So, what brings you to my humble apartment?”

“I was wondering something,” Stiles says quietly. “Derek’s been in my room at night.  I can smell it.”

“Yes,” Isaac nods. “We told him to just talk to you, but he’s afraid you hate him.”

Stiles sighs, “He’s such a martyr.  Anyway, he smells like pine and leather to you, right?”

Isaac nods, “Uh-huh.  And cherries when he’s been around Cora.  Also he smells like iron ‘cause he’s the Alpha.”

That throws Stiles off, “What?  Iron?”

“You don’t smell the iron?” Isaac’s brow furrows.

Stiles shakes his head, “There _is_ something other than the pine and leather, but it’s something warm and soft.  I don’t know what it is; I can’t put my finger on it.”

Isaac swallows and looks a little nervous, “Um.  This might be a better thing for Erica or Boyd to tell you about.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles’ chest is suddenly really tight.

“Well,” Isaac says slowly, “when two werewolves have strong feelings for each other, they tend to scent mark a lot.  I’ve never been scent marked before, but Erica and Boyd do it all the time.  Boyd always says it smells like a baby rabbit feels.  There’s not a smell-equivalent for it.”

Stiles is reeling, “What are you saying?” he chokes out.

“Stiles,” Isaac says seriously. “You need to talk to Derek.”

_--*--_

Stiles is laying on his bed after dinner when what Isaac said really hits him.  If Derek was scent marking him, does that mean Derek has strong feelings for him?  And if Derek smelled like that, does that mean that _Stiles_ was unconsciously scent marking back?  He needs to talk to Erica.

“Hey, Erica,” he says when she answers. “When Boyd scent marks you, does he smell warm and soft, too, or is that only when _you_ scent mark _him_?”

“Uh,” Erica sounds overwhelmed by the point blank question. “You mean, does the smell go both ways?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says softly, tugging at a loose string on his sweatpants.

“Why are you asking, again?” Erica asks.

When Stiles has explained the situation, Erica’s quiet for a long pause.

Then she sighs, “If Derek smelled like that, it could just be from him scent marking you.  You could be smelling it because it’s unfamiliar.  Like, I can smell your scent, but not my own, because it’s _my_ scent, you know?  It just smells normal, like everything else?  So if you suddenly smelled differently than your normal scent, it _could_ just be you picking up on the unfamiliar scent on your own body.  I’ve never heard of anyone scent marking in their sleep, so it’s probably not your scent on Derek.”

They talk for a few more minutes and when Stiles hangs up, he flops back onto his bed and heaves a long sigh.

So if Derek was scent marking him, then he has strong feelings for Stiles.  That changes a lot of things.  Stiles has had a crush on Derek for _years_.  And Derek _has_ to know that.  It’s impossible that he never smelled all of Stiles’ awkward sixteen-year-old boners because Derek was shoving him up against a fucking locker.  Plus there was all the teasing and taunting that Stiles subjected Derek to.

It’s like when he had a giant crush on Lydia Martin in fifth grade.  She had these long red pigtails and Stiles would always tug on them because he didn’t know any other way to get her attention.  Or in tenth grade, after he figured out he liked boys, too, when he had a crush on Danny and he would always punch his arm or knock into him or whatever.

He’s been _flirting_ with _Derek_.

He needs to talk to Scott.

_--*--_

Scott laughs when he tells him.  He laughs a lot, actually.  Like it’s almost offensive how hard he’s laughing.

“Stiles,” Scott says, “you didn’t even realize?”

Stiles is still a little stung by the laughing, “No, Scott, I did not realize,” he snaps.

Scott composes himself and clears his throat, “Yeah, Stiles.  I’m pretty sure everyone except you realized that was what was going on.”

“But Derek _hates_ me,” Stiles whines. “He avoids me like the plague!”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees, “because he doesn’t know what to do around you.  You make him nervous, anxious.  He doesn’t know how to get your attention other than slamming you up against lockers.  Do you remember that time he smacked your head into the steering wheel?”- boy, does Stiles ever- “He moped for _days_ because you were so mad!  He felt _terrible_ , but he didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So, what, Derek _likes_ me?” Stiles snorts, crossing his arms.

Scott’s silent for too long, “Um,” he finally says, clearing his throat, “it’s probably a little more than that if he’s scent marking you.”

Stiles’ life is ridiculous.

_--*--_

The only problem now is actually _finding_ Derek so they can have a little chat.

Stiles has had time to rethink his Derek feelings and he realized it’s a little more than a crush.  It’s more along the lines of serious affection that Stiles is almost inclined to say is bordering on _love_.  Which is a mind-blowing revelation to say the least.

So he nags Erica until she finally tells him that Derek’s up in the mountains at some family cabin where Peter was staying before he left for San Francisco to see Cora.  Then Stiles has to figure out how to convince his dad to let him leave the house alone and drive up there.

“Dad,” he’s whining like a five year old, _God_ , “I _need_ to talk to Derek.  It’s imperative.  It’s mandatory.  It’s non-negotiable!”

“Stiles,” his dad rubs his temples. “I’m your father.  Non-negotiable is not an option because I am your _parent_.  I have an _obligation_ to take care of you.  Especially after you were beaten practically to death because you offered yourself up as collateral so a bunch of psychotic Alphas!”

“Dad, look,” Stiles figures it’s time to bite the bullet. “There’s a distinct possibility that Derek’s in love with me and that I feel the same way and I can’t just sit around and not ask him or talk to him.  He’s my _Alpha_ for fuck’s sake and he’s maybe my _mate_ , too!  I need to talk to him before I go insane.  It’s been almost three weeks since I got out of the hospital and I _know_ he’s been in my room, but I haven’t actually _seen_ him.”

“You-“ his dad’s expression is a strange mix of shock and sadness. “You’re in _love_ with him?!”

“I haven’t really confirmed that with myself yet, but if it’s not actually love yet, it will be if I give it a chance to be,” Stiles says quietly, sitting down in front of his dad. “Dad.  I wouldn’t ask if I was serious about needing to talk to him.  My life had been turned completely upside down and this is just making me dizzier.  I need to right something so I’m not going crazy.”

His dad sighs, “Okay.  Okay, go see him.  But you keep your phone on and you answer whenever I call you.  Take the main roads and don’t cut through the woods.  Promise me, Stiles.  I can’t lose you, son.”

Stiles hugs him tightly, “I promise, Dad.”

_--*--_

His dad calls him four times during the half hour drive, which makes Stiles equal parts fond and exasperated. 

The path from the road up to the cabin is dark and bumpy and Stiles hits his head on the Jeep’s roof like four times.  The cabin itself is quaint and cozy-looking; it’s a cliché little thing made of logs.  Stiles takes a minute to calm himself, taking a few deep breaths and steeling himself.  Derek’s Camaro is parked up in the garage and Stiles pulls up behind it.  He can hear a heartbeat from inside, but it’s faint because he’s so far away.  He turns off the Jeep and pockets the keys.  He wants to give himself a pep talk, but he’s afraid Derek’s gonna run if he waits any longer.  He knows Derek knows he’s there.

When he knocks on the door, it takes Derek a few minutes to answer.

When he does, he looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and pillow creases on his cheeks; Stiles chest aches with want.  When Derek really notices that it’s _Stiles_ standing at his door, his eyes fill with sadness and something apologetic and he opens his mouth.

“No,” Stiles says and Derek’s face falls even further. “Don’t apologize.  Just let me in.  We need to talk.”

Once Derek’s put on a pair of sweatpants and Stiles has shed his jacket, Stiles sits on the little sofa next to the fire.  Derek stands awkwardly and Stiles can smell the worry and confusion rolling off of him in waves.  He also smells like hope, though, and a hint of _want_ that makes Stiles stomach flutter.

“Sit down, Derek,” he says quietly.

Derek sits gingerly at the furthest end of the couch and stares at his hands in his lap, “I-“ he starts and then clears his throat, “I’m sorry.  I know you’re probably really mad at me.  I just-“ he looks up at Stiles, eyes pleading- “You were _dying_ Stiles.”

“Derek,” Stiles stops him, “I am frustrated with you.  And a little angry, yeah.  And disappointed.  But it has nothing to do with the fact that you bit me.”

Derek looks up sharply and the scent of hope strengthens.

“I’m angry that you didn’t talk to me.  You didn’t even come see me,” Stiles says softly.

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Derek explains, scooting closer. “I thought you _hated_ me.”

Stiles snorts, “You’re an idiot.  You came in my room at night like you used to in high school.”

“Yeah,” Derek rubs his neck sheepishly, “sorry about that.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t smell it?” Stiles asks point blank and Derek freezes.

“I-“

“Uh-uh,” Stiles says, “you don’t get to talk.  I can’t _believe_ you!  We’ve known each other for _seven years_ , Derek.  Don’t tell me you never knew about my gigantic raging crush on you.  You could _smell_ it couldn’t you?”

Derek looks miserable, “Yes,” he whispers. “But you were sixteen Stiles!  I couldn’t have done anything, you were too young.  It would’ve been _illegal_.  I- I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you decided that alienating me and avoiding me and pretending I didn’t exist was a good idea?”

“Look,” Derek’s voice hardens, “I was angry and confused and you weren’t helping anything.  I just wanted something normal and I knew it could never be that way.  Not in Beacon Hills.  I didn’t know how to tell you what I was feeling; you were a _child_.  It would’ve been ridiculous for me to tell you how I felt.  You would’ve run away.”

Stiles stands up and glares down at him, “You don’t know that,” he hisses and he knows his eyes are flashing yellow and his claws are coming out, but he doesn’t care. “I wanted you, Derek and you let me think you hated me.  I thought you wanted me dead.  I let the Alphas take me because I’m dispensable.  I’m not an integral member of your pack.  If I died it wouldn’t be so bad.  I couldn’t let them kill Scott; he has so much potential and you know it.  And if you don’t, then you’re a fucking idiot.  I’m not going to stand around and let you pretend you don’t have feelings for me, Derek.  I already did that.  If you want this, want _me_ , then you’re going to have to do something about it.”

It’s hard, but Stiles manages to turn away from Derek’s hurt expression and pull his jacket off the coat rack and sling it around his shoulders.  He’s hurt when he’s shoving his feet into his shoes and Derek still hasn’t budged.

He makes it out to the Jeep and he can’t honestly tell himself that he really thought anything was going to come out of that, but it still stings.

He actually has the door open when the cabin door slams open and Derek comes stumbling out of the house.  He’s moving faster than Stiles has ever seen and he’s breathing hard when he slams the Jeep door shut and shoves Stiles up against it, pushing his face against Stiles’ neck and heaving in lungfuls of Stiles’ scent.

“Don’t leave,” he pants, grip tightening on Stiles’ hips. “Please, please.  Don’t leave, never leave.”

Stiles grabs his hair and yanks his head up so he can slot his mouth over Derek’s.  Derek lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a whine and kisses back with everything he has.  The kiss is frantic and sloppy, but it makes Stiles’ chest ache and he almost wants to cry with relief that Derek really does want this, want _him_.  He tilts his head and the kiss gets a little more focused, gets hot and open and wet, and Stiles realizes then how seriously turned on they both are.  Arousal smells like something rich and heady, like wine, and it’s rolling off both of them in waves.

Derek pushes Stiles further up against the Jeep and shoves a thigh between Stiles’, rocking his hips forward into Stiles’ own.  Stiles’ sucks on Derek’s lower lip and groans at the delicious friction sending sparks up his spine.  Derek shudders when Stiles bites down on his lip and Stiles shoves at Derek’s chest and jerks his head away.

“Inside,” he pants. “Inside, Derek, come on.  You need to be naked.  Come on, please.”

They somehow manage to stumble inside, Stiles still isn’t really sure how.  He’s pretty sure his jacket and shirt are both outside on the front porch, and Derek’s shirt is closed in the door.  Derek shoves him down on the bed and crawls on top of him, kissing him frantically, fingers fumbling at the button on his jeans.  He growls when he can’t get it undone and his eyes flash red until Stiles laughs softly and does it for him.  Derek tugs his jeans and boxers off in one tug and then pulls his own sweatpants down and off and tosses them over his shoulder.  He’s not wearing underwear underneath and Stiles groans when he sees Derek’s cock, hard and flushed dark, a bead of precome leaking from the tip.  Derek takes a minute to drag his gaze down Stiles’ body, which made him squirm and whine high in the back of his throat.  The wolf in him made him automatically tilt his head back to expose his neck and Derek lets out a guttural moan and pants a little.

“Stiles,” his voice is wrecked, hoarse, “you- you’re so beautiful.”

He leans forward and bites at Stiles’ neck, right where it meets his shoulder and Stiles hitches out a gasp and arches his back.

“Mine,” Derek growls, trailing his mouth down to suck Stiles’ nipple into the almost unbearable heat of his mouth. “ _Mine_.”

“Yours,” Stiles gasps, pushing up into Derek’s mouth. “Only yours.”

Derek tugs on Stiles’ nipple and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat before nipping a trail down Stiles’ stomach, nosing through the trail of hair below his belly button.  He pushes Stiles’ thighs further apart and settles between them, sucking at the soft skin of Stiles’ thighs before mouthing at his balls, sucking one and then the other into his mouth, eliciting a low groan from deep in Stiles’ chest.

“Please,” he chokes. “Please, Derek, please.”

Derek makes a soft noise of assent and licks his way back up Stiles’ thighs before sucking Stiles’ cock into his throat. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles lets out a long, filthy moan and bucks up into the wet heat of Derek’s mouth before Derek lays an arm on Stiles’ hips. 

It feels like Derek’s trying to suck Stiles’ brains out through his dick.  Not that he’d really mind, because the feel of Derek’s tongue teasing up the vein along the underside of his cock is almost too good.  Derek pulls up enough to tongue the sweet spot just under the head.  Stiles can vaguely hear himself making little breathy noises over the blood rushing through his ears and he unwinds one hand from where he’s been unconsciously gripping the fuck out of the sheets and shoves his fingers into Derek’s hair.

When Derek starts sucking hard on the head of Stiles’ cock and using his hand on the rest, Stiles’ back arches and he chants, “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

He can feel the heat pooling at the base of his spine spreading and he tugs on Derek’s hair to warn him that he’s close, but Derek just sucks harder and Stiles’ whole body clenches and he groans long and low and comes down Derek’s throat.  Derek swallows around him and milks him through it.

When Stiles comes down a little, panting and loose, Derek’s looking up at him, eyes dark and full of heat and there’s come striped across his cheekbone.

Stiles sucks in a breath, “ _Fuck_ , come here.”

He pulls Derek up against him and sucks his tongue into his mouth before shoving a hand between them to pull at Derek’s cock, sweeping his thumb over the head to make the slide easier.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans, nosing into the hollow behind Stiles’ ear, sucking his earlobe into his mouth. “So good, perfect, _ngh_.”

Stiles tries not to preen even though this has basically been his fantasy for the last five years or so, maybe even longer.  He strokes Derek tight and hot and kisses him feverishly until Derek’s writhing, hips hitching, little moans hiccupping from the back of his throat.  He makes a broken noise into Stiles’ mouth and spills hot over Stiles’ fist and his own thighs.  Stiles kisses his cheeks and strokes his arms as he comes down and gets ahold of his breathing.  Derek sits up and tugs Stiles into his lap, cups his jaw, and kisses him sweetly, long and deep and fucking _intent_ and Stiles sighs into his mouth a little, presses against him, arms looped around his neck.

Between slow, enamored kisses, Derek says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

Stiles shushes him and uses a corner of the sheet to wipe off his hands and Derek’s thighs.  He leans back against the pillows piled against the headboard and Derek wraps his arms around him and pushes his face into Stiles’ neck.

Stiles strokes his fingers through Derek’s hair and thinks about what just happened.  They didn’t really talk anything out and he still doesn’t know what Derek wants from him.  He hasn’t kicked him out, which is always a good sign, and Stiles doesn’t feel guilt or regret.  Does Derek?

“Stop thinking,” Derek mumbles into his skin and sits up to look at him. “Everything is fine.  No one is going anywhere.  We’re both happy.  Right?”

“Right,” Stiles says softly.

He doesn’t even realize it until he’s halfway there, but he’s leaning forward and nosing along the hollow between Derek’s collarbones, rubbing his face against Derek’s neck, sucking lightly on the skin there.  Derek chuckles and Stiles pulls back.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re scent marking me,” Derek says fondly, reaching out to trace a finger down the side of Stiles’ neck. “It’s instinct.”

“Pack instinct?” Stiles clarifies, arranging Derek against the pillows to his satisfaction.

“No,” Derek whispers once Stiles is cuddled perfectly into his side, nuzzling at his neck and tracing patterns onto his chest. “Mate instinct.”

“Mates?” Stiles whispers back. “Is that what we are?”

“Can’t you smell it?” Derek replies, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ forehead.

“Oh,” Stiles says quietly.  It kind of smells like the warm-soft of scent marking, but it’s deeper, in his bones. “Can we sleep now?”

“Mmhmm,” Derek’s voice is slow.

“Can I ask as many questions as I want when we wake up?” Stiles asks cheekily.

“How ‘bout after I fuck you?” Derek rasps.

“That is an excellent plan,” Stiles’ voice is a little strangled.

“Okay, now seriously, go to sleep or no fucking and no answers,” Derek yawns.

“’Kay,” Stiles snuggles closer and Derek tugs the quilt up over them. “Love you.”

Derek freezes and Stiles kicks himself for going too fast.  But Derek just leans down and kisses him softly before curving around Stiles’ back and whispering, “Love you, too.”


End file.
